Counterfeit Fate
by Shookyyy
Summary: Miles, a young wanderer of the Mojave Wasteland, is offered the opportunity of a lifetime to resurrect the bottle cap producing plant at the Sunset Sarsaparilla HQ. However, his new "career" soon uncovers a secret regarding the advance of Caesar's Legion.


(A/N): It's certainly been a few years since I've delved into the world of FFN but I'm here with a new account to try and make some magic. One thing I really, sincerely appreciate is feedback. I love love love reviews or even emails. I like knowing what I am doing right and wrong, so please feel free to contact me!

Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Fallout Franchise (Though I wish I did)

Summer days in the Mojave Wasteland are brutal. There is absolutely no doubt about that, and this statement was never truer than in the abandoned Samson Rock Crushing Plant. Or should I say, in the poorly constructed shack that sat in the center of the plant. Bark scorpions slithered to and fro as the wild brahmin mindlessly immigrated from one dry patch of land to the other. The place certainly didn't see much action, but to the men inside the shack, that couldn't be a better thing.

"Well shit!" Exclaimed Rusty, "Looks like I've won myself another sixty caps." The middle aged wastelander laughed as he quickly scooped up what was rightfully his. Miles, the young man at the other end of the small card table was neither a betting man, or much of a Caravan playing man himself which left him to question why he was here in the first place.

"Alright, Rust." Miles managed in an exasperated sigh, "You've just about robbed me of all I'm willing to spend, so would you mind telling me why you dragged me into the middle of a rock crushing plant? It had better not be to just play a few hands of this rigged game." Miles, a younger gentleman of about twenty, examined his old friend. Rusty's age was certainly there, but it was covered in a layer of toughness that told him not to mess with the "prospector". Like many residents of the wasteland, Rusty had managed his whole life by doing whatever he could. Work certainly didn't come easy but he never really let it get to him. He was, for the most part, an honest good hearted man who was always looking for the next paycheck. Miles , on the other hand, was a modest young man who had just finished his tenure with a few nameless, faceless caravans just trying to get by.

"Boy, you're not a day over eighteen now, are ya?" He laughed and readied his deck for another round. "You've got nowhere to be and plenty of caps to spend." Rusty's voice soothed Miles' nerves as he slowly dealt himself some cards again.

"I'm just saying, your "friend" better get here soon to explain what you've got in mind or I'm walking." His impatience began showing as he fiddled with his cards and tapped on the table. "And I'm twenty years old!"

"Jimmy will be here just calm down. Jesus you'd think the world was ending or something." He gave a wink and played his first card. Rusty, having known Miles since he was ten, tracked him down to where he was doing business a few months ago and sent a message via the Mojave Express to meet up with him at "The Shack".

A few minutes passed by and Miles happily threw down his last card and jumped up. "That's a Caravan, old man!" He chuckled and began victory dancing around the table, imitating the old fashion square dance to mock the prospector's defeat. Just as Miles was making his third energetic pass around the table, a tall, dark man entered the room, rifle in hand. Miles, unfortunately, didn't notice until he bumped chest to chest into the 6' 3'' African American.

"Aw hell, Rusty," the toned man began , his low voice quieting the room, "This had better not be the 'help' you said you had in mind for the factory." The man grumbled and gently pushed Miles out of his way, going straight to the ice box for a beer.

"You bet your ass it is." Rusty chuckled as he kicked his legs up on the table. "This, Jimmy, is Miles and, pending his agreement to our little operation, will be the muscle of the operation." Miles' face reddened with embarrassment as he re took his seat, looking directly at the floor.

"It's, uh, nice to meet you, Jimmy." Miles said sheepishly, trying to look like less of an idiot.

Jimmy ignored him. "Now how in the hell is this boy going to be of any use. There are a thousand better candidates out there. Shit, I saw a few baby geckos on the way here that were more intimidating than this… kid."

"Now now now, Jimmy." Rusty walked over and put his hand on the shoulder of Miles, squeezing his jacket confidently. "I know this kid, have for a while, and trust me, he's got balls." Miles sat in the glory of the compliment, looking Jimmy in the eye for the first time since he had hit him in the chest.

"Would you care to tell me what exactly you are talking about?" Miles finally spoke up, eager to hear about whatever plan the old man had stewing in his brain.

Rusty backed off and cornered himself in the room to look at both of the men at the same time. "Alright, I guess now that James is here, we can delve a little deeper into the plan." He grabbed a bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla and tossed it to Miles, beckoning him to open it. "You like, Sunset Sarsaparilla, Miles?" The young man nodded as he took a refreshing swig of the drink. "Well, how would you like to be able to buy as much of the stuff as you could ever want?" Rusty lowered his eyebrow as the grin on his face widened.

"I'm listening."

"Then let's cut the bullshit. A few months ago some damned courier working for the Crimson Caravan shut down an old bottle and bottle cap producing facility in Sunset Sarsaparilla's factory. Apparently they caught some old geezer trying to use the "fake" caps to buy some supplies. The courier's task was simple. He went into the facility, killed all of the defenses inside and dismantled the cap producing mechanism, practically doing half of our job for us."

"And what exactly is **your** job at this point then?"

"Well we're gonna make some caps, Miles!" He said in a higher pitched voice as he took off his straw hat to wipe the sweat that had collected on his graying brown hair.

"So counterfeit currency is your game now, huh?" He said in a negative tone. It was obvious he wasn't entirely impressed with the idea.

"As far as I'm concerned it's easy money. The factory's clear; all we've got to do is go in and gets the machine running. We'll have a few extra employees you haven't met yet running the machines and working the line, but it's a solid plan, m'boy!"  
"And where exactly do I come in?"

"You'll be the muscle… the protection of the company. We'll assign you a few men if you'd like and you're simply there to keep us safe. Not to mention you'll be making a very fair share of what we produce."

"You mention protection like you need some muscle, but isn't **that** all the muscle you'd need?" Miles questioned as he pointed his bottle at Jimmy.

The man interjected, "Well someone's gotta get that machine running."

"I'm afraid I don't understand…" Miles said with a puzzled look on his face.

"Jimmy here's an engineer, Miles." Rusty smiled, alleviating some of the confusion. "And a damn fine one at that. The only man with his skill set I trust enough to let in on this op. Now c'mon, we leave next week and we need you there. I know your past and what you've done… the things you've done. I know you've got the guts."

Miles grimaced as Rusty brought up his rather violent history but shrugged it aside. "I just don't know, Rust. It seems like a great opportunity but can you imagine the heat breathing down our necks if we do this. People will find out." He said, pleading his case as he finished off the drink.

"I've been planning this for months… Nothing can go wrong. It's airtight, I swear. We need ya, Miles." Rusty begged, his desperation starting to show.

"Seeing as how this is insanely illegal, it just doesn't feel right."

Jimmy took this chance to make his way into the conversation. "Boy this is the Mojave Wasteland. A world without laws and with a shadow of a 'government'" Jimmy said, alluding to the NCR, "Out here in these desperate times, this is about as honest a living as you're going to make."

(A/N): Boom first chapter done. I hope my Fallout knowledge was on and there weren't any canon plot holes within the realm of the wasteland. Like I said up top, please read and review and be sure to let me know what you think. Review's keep me goin' and I'd love to continue writing this story. Have a nice day!


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